The Robots of Gotham

by Todd McAulty

  “Making out?” I said. That hardly seemed like a likely scenario.

  “Yeah. You should’ve seen the look Jorge gave me when I told him to watch for you in the lobby.”

  She was rooting around on the floor, looking for something. It wasn’t where she expected it to be, and she cursed under her breath. She put one hand on my leg and stretched into the back seat, dragging out a big, ugly data slate. Her tunic, already a bit too short for her, rode up, exposing her bare stomach. I couldn’t help notice she was in excellent shape.

  She turned the slate on and authenticated. “Do you know what’s going on?” she asked.

  “I’ve been briefed,” I said.

  “Of course you have. Probably your goddamn spy buddies told you.”

  “Probably.”

  “There’s a regimental-level mobilization. Two regiments, out of Ecatepec de Morelos, and Guadalajara.”

  “Over two thousand men and women,” I said.

  She stared at me. “How do you know that?”

  “Spy buddies,” I said.

  “Shut the hell up. I want to know how you know that.”

  “Noa, right now everyone who was in Perez’s briefing is telling somebody. Half the damn hotel knows already.”

  “Somebody told you.”

  “Yes, somebody told me.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone with a lot more information than you, okay? Just drop it.”

  “Nobody in this regiment can keep their goddamn mouth shut,” she muttered. “And don’t call me Noa.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Van de Velde handed me the tablet. “Is that you?” she asked.

  Two-thirds of the screen was taken up by a brief, looping clip of a nighttime scene outside the Sturgeon Building. It was taken by a low-altitude drone, using a night-vision camera with crappy color correction. It looked exactly like the kind of on-the-spot feed I routinely saw on local news coverage, probably shot by an independent news agency.

  Smack-dab in the middle of the image was me, in the combat suit. About fifty feet away was Standing Mars.

  Something was wrong with the image. I had to use the tablet to zoom—and replay it twice—before I spotted it.

  I was too short. The combat suit hung on my shoulders a little too loosely. My movements, as I shifted to the left to avoid Mars, were wrong. The image had been altered. Subtly—and very professionally—but definitely altered.

  Jacaranda. She’d done exactly what she’d said she’d do—digitally alter my image. Even while I was wearing the suit, apparently. But how had she managed that impressive feat with a commercial news feed?

  Jacaranda—that was the other problem with the image. When I’d been standing in the street outside the Sturgeon Building, Jacaranda had been at my side. But there was no sign of her here at all. She’d completely erased herself.

  Clever girl, I thought. Or whatever the hell she is.

  “Well?” said Van de Velde. “Is it you or not?”

  I thought for a moment before responding. I wanted to level with Van de Velde, but her last words yesterday morning still rung in my ears.

  Like it or not, we weren’t friends. Perhaps we weren’t enemies, as she believed, but we were definitely on opposite sides. If she was working for Hayduk—even unknowingly—then anything I told her could conceivably get back to him . . . and compromise the entire operation to create the antivirus.

  But if I wasn’t careful, it would be all too easy to convince her that I was not only an American spy, but an active danger to her entire regiment. I had to be as honest with her as I could, without giving away too much.

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s me.”

  “Jesus. I knew it.”

  She turned away. She was staring out the front window, shaking her head.

  “I’m sorry if this causes problems for—”

  “I can’t keep this secret. I can’t. It’s too big.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you know how many people are looking for you?”

  “No, but—”

  “Four months we fought to pacify this city. Except for the damn Union, it’s been peaceful since January. And now they’re bringing the Ground Ghouls back. The worst bunch of assholes in the AGRT.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “This whole war could start up all over again. Because of you.”

  There was nothing I could say to that. So I said nothing.

  We sat in silence for a few minutes. When Van de Velde started talking again, she sounded calm, but resigned.

  “I thought I could keep your secret. I really did,” she said. “You helped my men, and I thought I could help you. But I can’t. Not with this. It’s too big.”

  “I understand.”

  “God, this is so screwed up. My tour is over in just eight weeks. I was going to rotate out. Go back to Caracas.”

  “Maybe you still can.”

  “Don’t you get it?” Her fist pounded my chest. “I’m going to fucking prison. I harbored an enemy. Section Nineteen, paragraph four, giving aid and succor to the enemy. I gave aid and succor to the enemy. Capitán Leon thinks I’m screwing you. And my men? They’re outside right now, laughing, because they think we’re getting naked in here. Jesus.” Her voice dropped, and her next words were much quieter. “I kept your secret, and I’m going to burn for it.”

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant. I never meant to involve you.”

  She sat up straight, squaring her shoulders. “But not anymore. I’m going to tell Colonel Perez who you are.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I believe you.”

  She seemed to consider me for a moment. Then she said, “I’ll give you twenty-four hours.”

  “Twenty-four hours? For what?”

  “To get out of the city, you idiot. Get back to Canada . . . or wherever the hell you’re really from.”

  “I can’t leave.”

  “I’m serious. I’m turning you in, in twenty-four hours.”

  “I know.”

  “You can’t stay here. Do you know what they’ll do to you?”

  “Probably turn me over to Colonel Hayduk.”

  “That’s exactly what they’ll do. That man is an animal. Worse than an animal. I’ve seen what he—” She broke off. “Never mind. You can’t stay.”

  “I have to.”

  “What’s so damned important?”

  “I’m working with a group of people. They need my help.”

  “Who? Your damn spy buddies?”

  “There are no spy buddies. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I’m not part of a renegade American combat cell, or spy network, or anything like that.”

  “Then who are you working with?”

  “Your people.”

  “My people? Who the hell are my people?”

  “Part of the AGRT.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “We’re working on something. It’s important. It’s very important.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “If we don’t finish, a lot of people are going to die.”

  “I’m not listening to your lies.” She turned away from me.

  I slammed my palm against the window next to her. She jumped in surprise.

  “Pay attention, Sergeant!” I shouted. I moved closer, until I was only inches from her face.

  “Grow up, Van de Velde,” I said. “This war of yours was never over. Colonel Perez and his soldiers—your soldiers—are giving their lives to keep the peace in this city, while military intelligence is actively working to sabotage him. Not just sabotage him, but murder the troops under his command. There is a faction—a tiny faction—fighting to save them, but they are vastly outnumbered and frustrated at every turn. Now, you can stick your head in the sand and pretend the only danger to you is mythical American spies, or you can open your goddamned eyes and look around and see what the hell is really happening.”

 
Van de Velde was staring at me, openmouthed. A second later, someone hammered on the door.

  That broke the spell. I sat back, and she took a second to compose herself. Then she powered down the window.

  Two guys from her unit were standing by the car. “Everything okay, Sergeant?” said the closest, concern in his voice.

  “Yes,” said Van de Velde. She didn’t seem to trust herself to say anything else.

  The guy in front gave me a hostile glance. “Okay . . . if you say so,” he said to Van de Velde.

  “ ’Cause if you’d like,” blurted the second soldier, “we can take him out and beat the shit out of him.”

  Van de Velde found her voice. “Shut your goddamned mouth, Casal,” she said. “When I need your help, you’ll know it.”

  “Jesus,” said the first soldier, punching the second in the shoulder. “Don’t be such a dick.”

  Van de Velde closed the window and turned back to me. She gave me a long, appraising look. “All right,” she said. “Tell me more.”

  “There isn’t much more I can tell you.”

  “You’re saying there’s no team of American soldiers. It was all you?”

  “It was all me.”

  “You broke into the Sturgeon Building. And the Field Museum.”

  “All me.”

  “You said someone is trying to murder the troops under Perez. Who is it?”

  “I think you know who it is.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s someone very highly placed. Someone who doesn’t give a damn about Colonel Perez and who I suspect would be very happy to see him dead.”

  It didn’t take her long. “Hayduk,” she said.

  “He’s not operating alone,” I said. “He has powerful allies.”

  “Who?”

  “We don’t know yet. But we know they’re machines.”

  “Jesus. What is this all about?”

  “We don’t know that either. Not entirely. But it may have something to do with the robot colony under Chicago.”

  “The Godkiller? You think Hayduk sent it to kill us?”

  “Not us. The Godkiller was sent to destroy the robot colony.”

  “Why?”

  I didn’t answer. I realized I was on the verge of telling Van de Velde everything. She deserved to know, certainly. But she didn’t need to know. And right now, knowing too much could get her killed.

  “I can’t answer that,” I said reluctantly.

  “Yes you can. It’s my men who are getting killed. Mine.”

  “I know.”

  “You need to tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “I will, eventually. But for now, you’re better off not knowing.”

  She looked out the window, at the tinted skyline. “You know I can’t just sit on this. I have to share what I know with Colonel Perez.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Just give me until Monday.”

  “Monday? What’s going to change in four days?”

  “We’ll know if what we’re trying to do is going to make a difference at that point.”

  “And will it?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It will.”

  She considered. “All right,” she said. “Monday. And then I go to Perez.”

  “Agreed.”

  She reached out and grabbed the front of my shirt. Her nails dug painfully into my chest, and her eyes searched mine.

  “Don’t fuck with me,” she said.

  “I won’t.”

  “I mean it. I don’t want to end up strapped onto one of Hayduk’s interrogation tables with my scalp peeled off and wires stuck into my head. I’ll put a bullet in my brain before I let that happen.”

  I took her hand, gently pried it off my chest. Her fingers gripped mine painfully. “I won’t let that happen.”

  “I’m trusting you.”

  “I know,” I said. “I never meant for you to get involved. But now that you are, I will protect you. I promise you.”

  She ran her free hand through her short hair. “This is a nightmare.”

  I put my hand on top of hers. “Do you believe me?”

  “I want to.”

  “Tell me you believe me.”

  Her eyes dropped, and her voice faltered. “I want . . .”

  “Say it.”

  “Oh, fuck it,” she whispered. And she kissed me.

  I was so surprised I barely had a chance to react. The contact was quick, but electrifying.

  And then it was over. She pulled away, busied herself rumpling her shirt and undoing the top button on her uniform.

  “Might as well make it look good,” she said. “For the boys outside.”

  “Yeah,” I said, a little breathlessly.

  Before I could say anything else, she opened the door and stepped out. Her boots made quick, measured beats as she walked away from the car.

  The two soldiers who’d banged on the window were standing barely thirty feet away. “What are you two assholes still doing here?” she barked at them. “I told you, I want prep details in an hour!”

  They snapped to attention, saluted, and dashed across the pavement toward the hotel.

  I got out on the opposite side, closing the door behind me. I followed the soldiers toward the hotel.

  As I did, I noticed something odd. Across the street, on the north side of Wacker Drive, nearly sixty people were huddled. Some of them clutched blankets; some were hunkered down against the fence. Some were drinking soup from cups. They seemed like refugees, and it looked like they’d been there a while. But they hadn’t been there yesterday morning, when Black Winter picked us up in his car.

  Van de Velde entered the hotel ahead of me. She didn’t look back. The two soldiers posted outside greeted me by name as I approached.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Simcoe.”

  “Hola, señor.”

  I nodded to them in turn as I passed through the metal detectors, a little perplexed. I didn’t recognize either of them. I assumed they were part of Van de Velde’s squad, but who knows? I was tempted to ask them about the people across the street, but I figured it was best to take Sergei’s advice and keep social interactions with the Venezuelan military to a minimum.

  A lot of things had changed in the last twenty-four hours, to say the least. Spending the night with Mac—and discovering some of her most intimate secrets—had heightened my interest in her and solidified my intentions to make a serious effort to get to know her better. On the negative side, the search for the American in the combat suit had accelerated, and in the next few weeks several thousand AGRT soldiers were going to be landing in Chicago to join the hunt. A Sovereign Intelligence had begun the process of destroying me and my company, likely in retaliation for interfering with the planned execution of the underground robot colony. In the next forty-eight hours, we’d find out if our desperate effort to stop the spread of the pathogen had been successful . . . or if the country was about to suffer the most lethal plague in its history.

  And in four days, come what may, Van de Velde was going to finger me as the most wanted criminal in the occupied territories to her commanding officer.

  With all of that weighing on me, you’d think the thing foremost on my mind wouldn’t be a quick kiss in an armored car from a woman fifteen years younger than me.

  Simcoe, you’re an idiot, I thought.

  Shaking my head, I pushed open the door into the hotel.

  Heavy Is the Head That Wears That Big Metal Crown

  Paul the Pirate

  Thursday, March 18th, 2083

  When you’re just a humble Thought Machine living in a fishing village on an island paradise, it can be tough to understand the world. But lately I’ve found it’s much easier to make sense of it all if I divide up the world—and all the contradictory rhetoric coming out of it—into three discrete buckets.

  #1: Places Where Machines Don’t Call the Shots

  Who They Are: China, Mexico, Australia, Portugal, Morocco, Turkey, Ireland, Iran, P
eru, Poland, Sweden, Vatican City . . .

  What They’re All About: Ten years ago, this was virtually the only category. Now it’s the smallest and shrinking rapidly. For years, America—the strongest nation on Earth—topped this list. Thanks to one decisive bit of legislature—the Wallace Act of 2067—it became illegal to develop or manufacture machine intelligences anywhere in the country. A bigoted and prejudiced act, if you ask me, but I’m a machine, so take that however you like.

  Looking at it more objectively, you can’t argue with the fact that nations without an equivalent law on the books (meaning most of ’em) had a nasty habit of falling under the sway of fascist machines over the next ten years. For all its backward thinking, the Wallace Act kept the heavy metal tread of machine tyranny off American soil for a decade . . . at least until the San Cristobal Coalition fabricated a story about corrupted baby machines and started a war America couldn’t win.

  Its defeat has panicked every other nation in this category. With America under the boot of the SCC—and its peacekeeping thugs the AGRT—things have really begun to accelerate. Human governments in Belgium, Italy, and Thailand have all been toppled in just the last two months. Without a strong America to lead it, this entire category looks endangered, and its dwindling membership is desperately looking to China and Mexico for leadership.

  Are human governments even viable in the age of Machine Gods? Here’s a clue: the answer is no. This category will likely vanish in five to eight years.

  What They’re Saying: Listen closely, and the reports and political rhetoric coming out of these countries all boil down to the same thing: Jesus, we’re scared. Leave us alone.

  #2: Places Where Machines Call the Shots (When They Behave)

  Who They Are: France, Germany, Russia, Brazil, Pakistan, India, Israel, Canada, Iceland

  What They’re All About: The first countries to allow machines to become citizens—Russia, Pakistan, and France—were also those that first adopted machine rule. Not coincidentally, they’ve benefitted the most from it. Stable economies and stable governments, yay. The very cornerstones of prosperity.